The Heaviest of Kittens

Today I journeyed into the rain with two of the sweetest friends I’ve ever had. I carried them in a plastic box, balanced to my side awkwardly like a five gallon bucket of slop in danger of spilling. When we reached our destination, I learned why it was such a struggle to walk with them in tow: Willie is a fattie.

….In my eyes, Little Willie will always be my baby, just as Biscuit will always be a puppy (though I never knew him as one) and Carter will live forever. I love him just the same after today, but the rose-colored glasses have been wrenched from my eyes by a stone-faced doctor who sees only the objective reality in front of him. I am now forced to view Willie as he is: a big cat, and getting bigger in an unhealthy manner. In a way, it is good that I see him today as a big boy. It is time for a new baby to take his place.

My Perfect Love and Pain

Carter became mysteriously ill. It wasn’t the first time I’d thought him close to death–and unfortunately, it would not be the last–but it was the first time I was dealing with it completely alone. The new vet was far away, and night had set in, as had his lethargy and vomiting. I didn’t sleep at all that night, watching and waiting for a sign that he might snap out of it.

Catsup, or Catsoup?

I find myself playing a game of catch-up in the story that is my life. This would be a mundane task for a Saturday night, had my life not advanced several years in the past week!

A Visit to the Zoo

Tall Boy was my boyfriend when I graduated high school. A whimsical search on Racebook brought him back into my life (after the disastrous affair with The Colombian turned positively James-Patterson-awful) by long-distance phone line, and now he was about to enter my reality at Ina Hall. I could not have been more excited. I suppose one could also say I was nervous. While our conversations had been easy and somewhat magical, I worried that our chemistry might have evolved enough over the years to have simply disappeared.

Cold Motives

I am not a fan of snow, and I am certainly not a fan of these cold New England winters. (Though I live in New York, which is technically not New England, I do live a mere stone’s throw from the edge of it, and therefore get the full benefit of those harsh winters.) The price of propane at Ina Hall is literally breaking me as I struggle to keep my nose from running inside my house. My moon boots occupy a permanent spot at the front door. It has been many weeks since I ventured outside without them.

Katie has gone walk-less, and Biscuit must wear a sweater. But perhaps most affected in my household is Carter, who has spent many nights alone and cold atop his refrigerator cabinet. The thermostat is set to drop at bedtime, which affects the dogs and Willie and I not at all as we chill together under our electric blanket. Carter freezes solo downstairs as the heat rises up to my bedroom.

The Face of My Avatar

I have missed my Carter. As everyone knows, he has banished himself to the cabinet over the fridge for the past 9 months, coming down only use the facilities in the night, or when the dog is out walking. Frightened of Katie, he leaves himself out of family cuddle time. Instead, he watches from the fridge in the evening, peeking through doorways to stare at me on the couch with my pile of dogs.

Warm Body Syndrome

There is something to be said for loyalty and companionship.  In fact, these are things we all crave.  Most people who get married, regardless of the reasons why they did, stay married for loyalty and companionship.  And those of us who can’t manage those relationships, who can’t muster the emotional energy to survive past the beginnings of a relationship, get cats.

Before he was my companion, he was Carter's

Carter has been my best friend for more than ten years.  I’ve told the miraculous story of how our relationship came to be, and how he has saved my life numerous times.  For years, he slept on my head at night, or in the crook of my arm, or squarely on my crotch.  I was his “warm body,” his source of comfort and heat, as he was mine.  Many times, I’ve cut my hair unusually short merely because I could not take another night of his yanking and pulling it.

His feline protege, Little Willie, has grown nicely into the role of Warm Body.  Willie’s early escapades in kittenhood had me worried.  No animal with that much pent up energy could possibly learn to be a buddy!  But Carter trained him well, bringing him to bed every night–before the arrival of Katie, of course–and planting him next to me.  As his body has caught up with his age, Willie’s talents for affection-giving and merry-making have grown.  For this, I am incredibly thankful.

Little Willie is the last one to join us in bed.  As I settle in for the night, Katie hops up for a snuggle, and plants herself at the foot of the passenger side.  Biscuit now cozies up next to me, which is new since his longtime illness has established itself.  And now I know, without any doubt, that just before I drift off into my fitful slumber, Willie will spring up out of the darkness to bury himself right on top of me.  Most often, he goes to sleep with his face staring directly at mine.

Willie is a huge fan of bathtime.  Each morning as I get ready for work, I open the shower door to find him waiting.  Screaming.  He wants to come in.  He wants to say hello.  He wants to examine the shower.  And he wants a cuddle.  The consistency with which he presents himself has become a comfort to me in my lonely days.  His jolly (yet needy) cries remind me that I am here to serve him, so I must snap out of whatever sad thoughts consumed me while the hot water ran over me.  He needs me.

Bath Buddy

Little Willie belongs only to me.  Other people seem to terrify him, and most visitors to my house never actually see him.  He did learn to love Patrick fairly quickly, mostly because Patrick is a cat person, and often travels here with his cat.  But others simply have to take me at my word that another cat exists at Ina Hall.  It is no wonder he fears people.  When he attempted to snuggle with The Colombian in the middle of the night, he was angrily asked to move.  (He was allergic.  Oh, and mean.)  Willie learned the hard way that just because I like a person, does not mean he has to like him.  He might have better intincts than mine, at that.

Willie is a complex being; but his most complicated days are still ahead of him.  For now, his curiosity and playfulness are what drive him.  For warmth, he could snuggle up to the much-warmer Carter, and perhaps fill Carter’s needs as well.  For companionship, he has a house full of playmates from which to choose.  He needs me only for food.  For that matter, he has become resourceful at finding food from the dog food container, or from the closed pantry!

This is how I know that Willie just likes me.  People think that only dogs are loyal, but I know differently.  Carter has always been a bit of a whore, cozying up to visitors and enjoying being loved even by strangers.  I’ve always known that, as attached to me as he may seem, he would wander off and happily find a new family if given the opportunity.  But Willie is only for me.  His tiny little million-miles-an-hour heart is mine, and his cries are for me alone to hear.

When I was a freshman in college, I enjoyed some late-night makeouts with a male friend in his dorm room.  Afterward, he expressed that he did not wish to repeat it.  He only wanted to be friends.  In truth, I didn’t like him either.  Another of our friends said that we had “Warm Body Syndrome,” a need to use someone familiar for physical affection and comfort.  I supposed I’ve repeated the same mistake a dozen times since then.  But Little Willie is more than just a warm body to me.  He is my Little Buddy.  He is the sunshine of my life, the glue that holds me together when I want to fall apart.  He is my loyal companion.  And he never leaves the toilet seat up.  I’d say it’s a winning marriage.

Dogless Whisperer

In preparation for my trip to The Big Apple tomorrow, I’ve sent the Queen Bitch away for a sleepover. She joined her Uncle Patrick and brother Biscuit–and, much to his chagrin, Wyatt Earp–on their journey home. If I never felt lonesucky before, I certainly do now.

Morning Cuddles

These days, I wake to an entire crew in my bed. Little Willie’s is often the first face I see, because he spends a good chunk of the night lying squarely on my stomach, facing me so his wake-up screams land like firebombs in my bleary-eyed face. Biscuit lies at my right hand, just touching me, so he can roll over and sneak a French kiss if I’m not paying attention. Katie guards the lower passenger side, just in case a large cat attempts to sneak in during the night. (It hasn’t happened in many months.)

Bathing Beauties

A quiet Saturday night at the Zoo can feel like a curse at times, bound to be lonesucky. Tonight, however, I’ve chosen to enjoy the quiet and human solitude, and appreciate my furry buddies for what they bring to the table.

Source of Conflict

I’ve recently begun to wonder whether I’m capable of sustaining any kind of peaceful relationship with anyone I care about. I’ve had periods of happiness, for certain; but any sort of long-term coexistence seems near impossible. It is often said that in order to be peaceful with others, you must first find peace within yourself. And…that is where it breaks down for me.

Pepper Pecker Strikes Again!

Pepper on the Vine

I suppose we’ll call it a birthday gift. 

Yesterday was Little Willie’s first birthday.  He wouldn’t wear the hat, and he wouldn’t sit still for photos.  But his distracted mother foolishly left her beautiful new hot banana pepper on the countertop after showing it to The Colombian and walking away upstairs. 

Lo and behold, the pepper has been pecked.  And so ends the pepper season.

Pepper, pecked.